


Short shorts always ruin everything, don't they?

by loevrites



Series: Harry Potter and the Art of Embarrassment [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Again, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, and an Idiot, harry is just horny, second hand embarrassment, slight nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 06:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loevrites/pseuds/loevrites
Summary: Fuck indeed, my friend.





	Short shorts always ruin everything, don't they?

If Harry had thought recovering from that Amortentia incident had been hard...well.

But it had, truly, and Harry was definitely not ready for what was to come.

But let’s back up, shall we?

Three days after the Amortentia incident Hermione had still been trying to convince him to talk to Malfoy about it. He had questioned her sanity, but her arguments had consisted of “what if he feels the same” and “Harry everybody knows already, including Malfoy himself” and also something about “Gryffindor courage” - Harry couldn’t really tell as he had been trying his best to ignore her.

Nine days later and she was still going at it.

But Harry was _not _going to break.

“Hermione, I’m going to say this one final time,” he looked at her from his Prophet, stuffing his mouth with bacon and sighing, “there is going to be no confessing of anybody’s feelings. Case closed. Please, stop harassing me now and let me read in peace.”

She murmured something about Harry not even caring about what he read but he couldn’t be arsed to listen to her, too busy stuffing his face and pretending to read an article about magical illnesses. Too busy thinking of Malfoy, if he had to be honest.

But he didn’t. He was going to take those feelings to his grave. All the feelings.

The ones in his chest.

And the ones in his dick.

The ones somewhere in between, too.

“Harry, how are you gonna die on Thursday?”

“Drowning.”

“Bloody hell, I’m out of deaths!”

“Do you have strangled by a cursed shoelace?”

“No, do you?”

“No.”

“All right I’m stealing it, thanks mate.”

“No problem, Ron.”

As far as breakfasts went, this one was just the usual.

*

Two weeks later and Harry was living by his new plan. Ignore Malfoy until the day you die. They only had Potions and DADA together anyways, as Malfoy seemed to focus on the subjects opposite to Harry. They saw each other in the 8th year common room, sure, and maybe sometimes they would run into each other in the men’s, but that was about it.

And so what if Harry kept thinking about him at night, under a dozen privacy charms? Well, that was just something he didn’t feel like sharing, not even with the logical side of his own brain.  Because during the day he was perfectly fine with ignoring his skinny arse.

Until, well.

Until.  


It was around 10 o’clock. Him, Ron and Hermione were sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace in the common room. They were supposed to be doing homework but Ron was tired and too distracted by Hermione’s...something, Harry couldn’t remember. He’d told him when Hermione’ d gone off  on a toilet break, but Harry  had been too deep in his (Malfoy- centered ) thoughts. Maybe it was her shirt? Or her  _skirt?_ Those are pretty similar words. 

Well, anyway, Ron was not doing much work,  besides nodding and trying to take notes of whatever Hermione was explaining to him. At some point, she’d got so annoyed that she made him and Harry go play Exploding Snap in the corner of the room and “leave her to study while they go and be horny teenage boys somewhere else”.

So they did exactly that and, to Harry’s surprise, it was going well.

“She knows I like her and, like, we snogged a few..._many _times but she never wants to talk about actually getting together and it makes me so frustrated...Harry?”

“Hmm? Yeah, uh, I don’t know, mate, I’m not very good with girls.”

Ron snorted and leaned back in his chair, “I know, man.”

Harry pulled out a card and was just about to say something along the lines of “yes, Ron, make fun of my gayness as much as you want, it’s fine” but it exploded quite near his face. That made him scream like a little girl and throw  the smoked card  as far away as he could – which then caused Ron to have some sort of aneurysm  as he almost fell out of his chair, laughing.

Harry spent the rest of the evening not saying a thing, only half-listening to Ron’s heart/dick/both problems. He considered the evening and overall success, with the general lack of Malfoy talk and whatnot – but then it happened.

He and Ron were already standing up, on their way to the dorms, when he heard it.

“WHO THE FUCK WANTS TO GET HEXED TONIGHT?!”

And there he was. Harry would like to say that his blonde hair was the first thing he’d seen as he emerged from the bathroom, but it definitely wasn’t.

Because, well, he was dripping wet. And half-naked.

And so then, you know, Harry was half-hard. As things go.

In fact, t he first thing  H arry had seen was Malfoy’s bare chest, his wet arms, then his V line and the towel around his hips.  _Oh, sweet Jesus and Merlin._

“POTTER!” 

_ Oh no. _

“I didn’t do nothing, what the fuck, Malfoy?” but he was already power-walking toward Harry and Harry was walking backwards until his back hit the wall, his eyes wide, the halfie in his short shorts being the only part of him enjoying the current situation.

“Well, _someone _decided to Vanish all my clothes as I was showering. Did you want to embarrass me back or what?” he was basically in Harry’s face then, breathing fast and looking like he really was about to hex him, “it’s not my bloody fault that you can’t keep your stupid mouth shut, you idiot. Now give me. Back. My. Clothes,” he gritted the last few words out through his clenched teeth and Harry could almost feel himself scream.

So, instead of doing that, he swallowed hard and lifted his chin up, suddenly aware of the fact that the entire common room was staring at them (yes, including the paintings).

“I don’t have your clothes Malfoy, I’ve been playing Snap with Ron for the past hour so get off m-”

“Don’t you fucking dare lie to me, Potter,” well great. It took Harry a hot minute to wrap his head around what exactly was happening, but then there was Malfoy’s wet-and-nearly-naked body pressed flush to his own, his pale hands fisting the collar of Harry’s polo shirt.

And, well, there was no way he was going to be able to hide it now. And ‘it’ was his rapidly growing hard-on, pressed to the side of Malfoy’s hip through the thin material of his shorts.  _Fuck._

  


And the next moment Harry wasn’t the  wide-eyed one  anymore -  _oh, how the tables have turned - _ but instead it was Malfoy, moving away with the speed of a Bludger and – oh seriously? - gazing down towards Harry’s waistband.

That caused at least ten more people to look down  toward Harry’s  _bloody traitorous_ dick.

Lavender was whispering again.

Malfoy’s mouth was hanging open.

Harry’s face was red but he realised there was no fighting it, no denying it now, so he pushed himself off the wall and strode across the room into his dorm, shutting the door behind him  and – only then – allowing himself to finally hide his face in his palms and groaning so loud it woke Neville up.

“What…Harry?”

“Go back to sleep, Neville.”

“What’s wrong?”

Harry sighed then, resting his back against the closed door and leaning his head back, letting it hit the  cool wood. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

_ Fuck. _

“Nothing, really. Just tired.”

“Hmm, OK, Harry.”

_ Fuck indeed, my friend. _

  


**Author's Note:**

> do the people want part 3?


End file.
